‘Yes,’ she lied, accepting the coffee he handed her without meeting his eye. Her sanity. That was what she needed to return for. Because clearly she’d lost it somewhere between here and London and she could really do with getting it back before the wanton, needy creature he’d unleashed in her decided that staying in Paris with him was more appealing than returning home.
She took her coffee over to the big floor-to-ceiling window and stared out at the stunning view of the city.
Perhaps the light of day wouldn’t have seemed so harsh right now if she hadn’t emerged from the bedroom at just the wrong time. If the man who’d been wheeling a heavily laden breakfast trolley out of the lift hadn’t glanced at her and she hadn’t seen, in the moment before he blanked his expression, the speculative glint in his eyes. He’d been judging her, eyeing up the drowsy, bed-rumpled woman who’d slept with his boss—and, given she was guilty as charged, could she really blame the guy for looking at her as if she were a two-bit slut?
She swallowed, self-disgust rising in her throat like bile. She’d set aside all manner of caution and self-preservation and let curiosity and pure physical lust take control.
Oh, God.
All these years of despising her father’s behaviour and now she couldn’t even claim the moral high ground.
She gripped her mug between her hands. She couldn’t spend another night in Paris with Ramon. Just thinking about the things they would do together made her skin flush with heat and her body tremble with a deep-seated longing she couldn’t quash. He was like a dangerous, addictive narcotic. She’d had her first hit, experienced the ecstasy of the high, and now she was craving another.
Could addiction take root so quickly?
She shook her head. Crazy thinking. She was out of her element, her comfort zone, and she’d just done something completely out of character. Something that—even now with self-condemnation dragging at her stomach—had felt wrong and yet impossibly right at the same time.
Good grief. No wonder she was feeling disoriented.
‘Emily...’ Ramon’s arms came around her from behind and she stiffened so suddenly her coffee spilt, the hot liquid scalding her thumb.
Cursing softly, he took the mug away and returned with a napkin.
She patted her hand dry. ‘Sorry.’
‘For what? For flinching when I touched you just now, or for what we did last night?’
Hearing an edge to his voice, she fisted the napkin in her hand. What could she say? That she wasn’t used to having someone put their arms around her? She wasn’t. She was more comfortable when people kept their distance, though not because she didn’t crave human contact. Contrary to the nasty things her ex had said after she’d ended their relationship, her veins didn’t run with ice water. But when you hadn’t been hugged much as a child, when you had never experienced the physical manifestation of a parent’s unconditional love, you were hardly going to blossom into a touchy, feely adult.
And as for last night...her and Ramon...that hadn’t been about affection, or emotion. It had been about sex.
Nothing else.
She drew a deep breath. ‘I think last night was a mistake.’ His eyes rapidly narrowed and she hastened to add, ‘I’d had too much champagne. I... I was tipsy.’
His face darkened. ‘Are you saying I took advantage of you?’
‘No! Of...of course not,’ she stammered, instantly regretting her feeble excuse. ‘But...my judgement was impaired.’ She twisted the napkin between her hands and cringed inwardly. She was making a hash of this. ‘I... I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Are you drunk now?’
She blinked. ‘No.’
‘Are you thinking straight?’
Hardly. How could she think straight with his bare, muscled chest and powerful shoulders dominating her field of vision? ‘Yes.’
Moving with lightning speed, Ramon grabbed the belt of her robe and gave it a single hard yank.
Before Emily had time to react, the sides of the garment gaped open and exposed her naked breasts.
She made a small, startled sound and tried to tug the robe closed but his arm was already snaking under the soft terry towelling and circling her waist like a band of reinforced steel.
He hauled her against him, plunged his other hand into her loose, bed-tousled curls and cupped the back of her head.
Her breasts tingled, her nipples hardening into treacherous points of need. ‘Ramon—’
His mouth came down on hers. Hot. Forceful. A teensy bit brutal. Somewhere in her reeling mind she wondered if she should struggle, try to bite him, perhaps. She didn’t. Instead, she curled her hands over his shoulders, arched her body like the wanton creature he’d turned her into and opened her mouth under his. He backed her against the solid glass window, his kiss growing more fervent, more demanding, and she didn’t notice he’d released her head until she felt his hand sliding between her legs. A single finger thrust inside her, right into the centre of her wet, pulsing heat, and she gasped against his mouth.